Second bests
by LauraJanIce
Summary: Post BtVS season 7 and AtS season 4. Spike never got out of the Hellmouth. Angel and Buffy are helping each other through their grief in a rather unhealthy manner. This is not a very happy story but not as dark as it might sound.


**Rating:**NC-17.  
**Pairing:**Buffy/Angel (hints of Buffy/Spike and Angel/Cordelia).  
**Disclaimer:** Hail to the mighty Joss, God of Buffy, Angel and all their glory.

**Second bests **

Angel was thinking. Brooding the others called it. According to them it was his one and only hobby. To him it was an important part of life, or whatever one would call his existence. He was thankful for each day he got to be among the living, his natural time among them long beyond past.

Angel and Buffy had never been a simple matter but this probably was new high in complexity between them. To her he was only the next best thing. That was actually good. She was using him and that was what made it possible. Had it been any other way he wouldn't have been able to let himself be used by her. He knew he shouldn't. It probably was doing both of them more damage than good. But the immediate sense of release and harsh comfort always weighed out any long-term consequences when the choice was made. Whenever she turned to him he couldn't say no. Not as long as it was her and it wasn't bringing him real happiness.

He went over it again in his head, what they had done today. He saw himself behind her, holding her waist, slamming into her searing heat, not seeing her face. He just heard her moans, screams and grasps. By the words she got in between these sounds to encourage him he figured the sounds were more in acknowledgement of pleasure than pain; even if he knew perfectly well that he was hurting her, physically and mentally.

Even if he appreciated each day, not all his days were good days. Some were almost good but most of them remained some shade of gray. To his dislike he realized that a 150 years ago he would have considered today a good day. She was still alive so it wouldn't have been a perfect day, but Angelus would have liked it. For Angel, today had been a rather dark shade of gray.

Once upon a time they had been everything to each other. Now he was only the next best thing to her and he wasn't quite sure what she was to him. In all honesty it wasn't any different on his side, she was the second best thing. The best things were no longer among them. Both had been lost during apocalypses. Hers had gone willingly – it should have been expected - but his had been ripped away from him, away from the world.

Even if they were making up for what was unattainable he never thought about the best thing during. He doubted she could either. Not during, it would just hurt too much. Afterwards maybe, before surely. Thinking of what was missed caused it: the loneliness, the need.

Today she called. It was always her. He never took the initiative. He knew what they were doing was wrong and unhealthy. She did too but obviously didn't care. Before it had always been at night. Today it was in the middle of the day.

A long lunch. That was what he told the others. In retrospect it was the most stupid excuse that he could have come up with. He didn't even drink lunch. Why would he have to go up to his suite to do it? And what would he do to make it a long one? Drink the blood with a straw?

He got the feeling that his lame excuse hadn't really caused any suspicions in the office, just confirmed some. They had never been secretive about it. Buffy always called his office and introduced herself to Harmony. The others knew about it but no one dared to come out and ask what it was about. Not even Harmony.

Of all people, Harmony was the person that he had the hardest time facing. The pity in her eyes when he left was something he really could have done without. She shared their grief up to a point. Both Cordelia and Spike had been important people in her life at some point. But she seemed to find a less self-destructive way to deal with her loss.

He went back to the pictures flowing through his mind. It was still enough for her to have him slam into her from behind with all his force, but he feared that it wouldn't always be. He was afraid that after a few weeks she would ask him to go further. He just hoped that by then he would be strong enough to say no to her. He could never live with himself if he would give into her more.

He saw himself thrust into her hard, violently hard. He would never be so rough with any other woman. Not with his soul still intact. He only did it to her because her body could handle it and it was what she wanted, what she obviously thought she needed. If he went slower or shallower she would ask him to go faster, deeper; tell him, make him. By now he just did it without her having to say anything.

He did whatever Buffy told him to do. He never cared about how it made him feel or how she felt. He knew that her body wasn't always ready when he entered her. She told him to and he did, ignoring his better judgment. He tried to peace his conscience by the thought that this hurt far less than proper foreplay would with its intimacy and sweetness.

It seemed the concept of foreplay had been completely erased from Buffy's mind today. There hadn't even been their usual, almost awkward, rubbing together in order to get some anxiety and raw lust going. When he turned to face her after closing the door she had already taken off her jacket. She shamelessly, without looking at him, let her panties fall to the floor, stepped out of them, pulled up her skirt and got down on her hands and knees waiting for him.

It made him mad but he knew just what to do. If this was what she wanted, this she would get. He unbuttoned his pants and took out his cock. Amazingly enough a few stokes with his own hand at the sight of her wiggling bare bottom were enough to get him sufficiently hard.

Could this intimate act more impersonal?

The first time had almost been romantic compared to the way it was now. One day he had found her outside his door red eyed and desperate.  
"Angel. Make me feel." She had pleaded almost bursting to tears.  
The sentence was like a mantra to her with an emphasis on 'make'.  
After a few times he realized that there was something missing to her words. The sentence didn't finish there. She was trying to spare his feelings but he knew how she wanted it to end: "…like he did."

He had taken her in his arms undressed her slowly and caressed her body. Her eyes were closed and he knew that behind the lids fluttered the image of another man. He didn't care. He just wanted to make her feel better and this was what he gathered, she thought would do it.  
He had made her shudder with pleasure from the tenderness. When she came down from her orgasmic high and realized what had happened and what she'd been thinking, her face and body flooded with shame and she left without uttering a word.

Despite the shame she had come back eventually. She always did.

Angel remembered inching towards her on his knees and positioning himself behind her without touching her with his hands. The first part that touched her was the tip of his cock as he stroked down her folds but removed it again. He smelled her arousal becoming stronger. Thank God he wouldn't have to enter her completely dry. He teased her again but now moving upwards. He could feel another surge of her juices flowing and her slightly nudging her behind towards him trying to coax him into entering her. He pulled away again; she accepted it and didn't look back.

The first time she cried it had shocked him. She was on her back and they were on the bed for once. Her legs had been wrapped firmly around his waist and she was leveraging herself with her hands on the headboard so her body would stay in place as he ploughed her like he could. He froze as he saw the tears running down her cheeks and they had been running for a while since her face was already wet.

"What are you doing?" she asked looking confused. "Why are you stopping?"  
"I'm hurting you, Buffy!"  
She just then noticed the tears and quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand. Then she turned her face away from him.  
"No you're not. Keep going."  
The next time she told him to go in from behind. Even if he didn't see them he knew the tears were still there. They were a part of it now.

The screams were not as bad as the tears. He could at least pretend that they were rooted in pleasure. Some of them were but most were a mixture of pleasure and pain.

Today had been their first time in daylight. Years ago she would have cried from joy to be able to see him and be with him in daylight. Today he wasn't even sure she had noticed. It hadn't been real daylight. He still couldn't go outside. But now he could be inside his office and his suite with the curtains open during the day. They had left the curtains open. He hadn't given it any thought until afterwards. Besides, one would need a very good telescope or a helicopter to see them.

Her back shook in front of him to the fast pace he set by her commands. His hands held her hips, slid around her waist to find her clit as she was nearing climax. He twisted the little bud between his fingers and felt her inner muscles grip his shaft even tighter. That sent him over the edge with her.

It was one of the times when she removed herself from him before he would pull out. She got up smoothed down her skirt or pulled her pants up and left with a surprisingly shy "Bye Angel".

Fifteen minutes later he had showered and was back at his desk under Harmony's pitiful look, wondering how long it would be until Buffy would call again.


End file.
